Second Chances

One

        When I was eleven years old, my father once told me that good things happen to good people.  Six years later, I'm sitting here beside his bed side, except six years later, my seventeen year old self is questioning it as I clutch my hand over his softly.

         I remembered reading a turkish proverb one day on a poster you find pinned on the wall of a classroom, it read, "Good people are like candles; they burn themselves up to give others light." or something like that. It was logical to me because good people were like my father.

       Giving rather than taking, swallowing pride, spreading good more than bad and never looking down on someone unless you're helping them up. These were the small but rewarding lessons I had learned from my father growing up.

       So why was it that a good person like my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer?

        I continued to sit in silence while circles formed under my eyes from the little-to-no sleep I had gotten on this starry night at Queensway Hospital.  I run a hand through my hair as I let out a tired sigh, I take note of how peaceful my father looks, his chest rising up and down at a steady pace, the features of his face finally  relaxed. My heart feels heavy as I wrap my arms around my stomach, leaning over in the hard plastic chair I'm  perched on.

        For a short moment, I almost think that he isn't diagnosed with lung cancer, the structure on his face and the strong build in his arms tell me a different story, but the tubes inserted into his nostrils and the IV machine injected into his arm tell me otherwise, that this is the harsh reality I have come upon too. I raise my hand and quickly swipe away a stray tear.

        For the past 9 hours, doctor's and nurses have  been running blood tests,  MRI scans, asking questions, taking notes, giving painkillers for my father and alas, he was finally given the rest he needed from the long night we all had. While all of this was happening, I was stuck outside in the waiting room, worry and fear practically eating away at me from the insides. When the doctor granted permission for my mother and I to see him, I could feel tears stinging at the corner of my eyes, threatening to fall.

        My body shook with an unsettling feeling of uneasiness when I first entered the room, but when I saw him resting, I let out a small breath, feeling alright.

         But any traces of feeling alright was replaced with heartbreak when the doctor had announced that my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. That he was poisoned with an incurable disease. I wanted to cry but my eyes were fixed on how peaceful my father seemed to be and in that moment of heartbreak, I had learned that through the broken pieces of my heart, I still found comfort and hope. That recovery was still an option and this is what kept me on my feet.

        In movies, they project the characters who have cancer, bald, incredibly thin, pale and weak, so when I watch with sharp eyes at my father, I can't picture him like in the movies, I only see the true person my father is and not the cancer that should be shown through his body. I see a good man. 

        I place my hand over my fathers lightly, feeling the warm of his hand spark my cold hands as he rolls his head to the side, towards me. I nibble on my lip slightly as his eyelids slowly flutter open, revealing his deep brown eyes. Although the look of tiredness is plastered over his face, the corners of his mouth perk up into a tight and hopeful smile. I let out a huff of breath and grin as he flips his hand over,  grabbing mine.  I watch him squeeze my hand and look up at him, "How are you Dad?" I ask, my voice thick with exhaustion and worry.

        "Never been better," my dad quietly jokes above a whisper. I smile and look down at the ground, silence is replaced between us once again except I can feel a pair of eyes staring at me instead.

        "You look tired," my dad says, squeezing my hand lightly, I pick up my head and nod, my curly hair bouncing at the sides.  "It's been a long day," I mutter.  I can't help but feel the emptiness and oddness sitting here with my dad at one in the morning in the hospital, when we should be at home, sleeping.

        I hear the sheet's and blankets ruffle a bit under my dad's weight and when I look up at him, there's more space. "Come," my dad nods with head and urges me to lay down next to him. Of course I don't object and crawl in beside him, my body crippling with soreness. The relief of laying down washes over me and I let out a tired sigh. I bury my head in my dad's chest, curling up beside him

        "Where's your mother?" He asks softly against my ear. I almost want to fall asleep just than and there but I force myself to stay awake. "She's getting coffee downstairs," I respond just before yawning. I feel my dad nod slowly but we both knew she wasn't getting coffee, she was probably in the closet restroom in absolute disbelief. If I wasn't so glued to the tiles of the floor when the doctor delivered the news, I would of followed her and tried to comfort her. But I also knew that we all had our ways of cooping, our own ways of accepting things the way they are. So I stayed because god knows how much we both needed that moment of loneliness, of silence. 

        I roll onto my back, facing the ceiling above us. Another wave of silence washes over us, except this time it's a comforting silence. A few moments pass before my dad clears his throat.

        "I just want to tell you Alexandria, that I will be alright." He says so clearly I can feel ache carried throughout his voice. I turn my head and look at my dad in the eyes, "Will you be?" I ask. My eyes feel wet from the tears that I had tried so hard to keep at bay all night.  He looks at me with sad eyes before hugging me tightly. My head is pressed up against his chest and I focus on his breathing as he kisses me lightly on my head.

        "I will be, I will," he assures me with a hint of certainty and a few tears spill from my eyes. "I wanted to tell you myself Alexandria, I wanted you to hear it from me, I just want you to understand that I am and will continue to be your dad regardless of the lung cancer in me hun," I sniffle in response.

        "Lung cancer won't create a barrier between us, not now, not ever." With those last words, I break into a sob.  I let out the tidal wave of sadness and hurt that I managed to cling onto and pour out my emotions in my dad's arm that night.  I cry until my eyes are red and puffy. I cry until I don't feel anything at all but numbness.

        "I love you so much Alexandria Rose Elric."

        "I love you too dad,"

         I almost fear that I won't be able to say those words to him for much longer.